


A banquet of consequences

by chimosa



Series: Banquet [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimosa/pseuds/chimosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>An Alpha/Omega<strike> love</strike> story </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jack sighed, troubled.  “I had my suspicions.  So you think it’s true?  That he’s an omega?”</p>
<p>“In every sense of the word,” Hannibal agreed, fingers steepled as he settled into the chair across from Jack’s desk.  “I am surprised he wasn’t found out long ago.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Everybody, soon or late, sits down to a banquet of consequences."  
> -Robert Louis Stevenson 
> 
>  
> 
> Just trying something new, I hope you like it. Canon is flirted with, but in no way is it strictly adhered to. Feedback, as always, is the salted to my caramel gelato.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter stood with his hands behind his back, reading over the latest evidence gathered on the Minnesota Shrike. His cool eyes and high cheekbones gave him an aura of utter inscrutability. Whatever he was thinking, this was clearly a man that had the self discipline to keep it to himself. 

“These girls-” he started and paused. 

Agent Jack Crawford, almost despite himself, finished the psychiatrist’s train of thought.

“Are all the same build, same hair color, same ethnicity, yes.”

Hannibal Lecter was evidently a man of few words, which when paired with his calm demeanor and impeccably tailored suits made for as in-control an individual as Will Graham had ever seen. A textbook alpha, and the thought made Will’s hands twitch uncomfortably. Instinctively, his fingers reached for his pocket, for the bottle of pills he always kept there but he stopped himself short. 

Jack was examining the case file on his desk, but Will could feel by the weight of Hannibal’s gaze that his unthinking gesture hadn’t escaped the doctor’s notice. He tried to will himself motionless, to keep his head up and body still under the intense scrutiny even as his nerves screamed at him to bow his head in supplication. He didn’t need to look into Dr. Lecter’s eyes to know he felt Will’s internal battle, the crooked half smile that acknowledged his amusement was all Will needed to see. 

“And the confessions?” Hannibal turned back to Jack and suddenly Will’s shoulder could relax. He took off his glasses, scrubbed at his face. _Get it together, Graham_.

“Too many to count. They’ve been coming in nonstop since this morning, when the case info was leaked to the press.”

“Jack,” Will said with his glasses off, keeping the room at a manageable blur. “Why am I here?”

“Because I want your expertise to catch this guy.” He looked at Hannibal and amended, “Both of your expertise.”

“I’m a teacher now,” Will protested. “Strictly an academic. I don’t deal with,” he let his fingers waving toward the wall of blurry, young faces finish his sentence.

“Well brush off your badge, officer, I’m pulling you back into the field.”

“Former officer,” Will insisted, replacing his glasses.

“Listen, I’m not going to lie to you. This has turned into a high profile case and I need to get this thing solved as of yesterday. You have a reputation for outstanding leaps of deductive reasoning and I need that, since my team has gotten exactly nowhere with this thing.”

Will shook his head as he looked at a point slightly to the left of Jack’s eyes.

“I know you’ve had some problems in the field before. Lapses. Your former C.O. told me all about it.” If he meant it to be reassuring, he was wildly off his mark. Will’s shoulders raised, bracing himself against Jack’s words. “That’s one reason I’ve asked Dr. Lecter to come here-”

A chill crept up Will’s spine. He could suddenly see Jack Crawford’s play too well. “Who’s profile is he working on?” His indignation gave him the courage to address Hannibal directly as he demanded: “Who’s profile are you working on?”

Hannibal’s hands opened, palms up, like he had nothing to hide. “I am here in whatever capacity Agent Crawford has need of me.”

“Well I’m not,” Will declared, standing. “I’m not here to be studied, regardless of the body count.”

“That went well,” Jack commented drily, watching Will’s back retreat. When they were alone, he turned to Hannibal. “Maybe we should try a gentler hand in the future.”

“I’m not sure it is a gentle hand that good Will needs,” Hannibal reflected. 

Jack sighed troubled. “I had my suspicions. So you think it’s true? That he’s an omega?”

“In every sense of the word,” Hannibal agreed, fingers steepled as he settled into the chair across from Jack’s desk. “I am surprised he wasn’t found out long ago.”

“Well, you know the old saying: if it looks like a beta and smells like a beta. He must have gotten his hands on some kind of hormone blocker. I certainly wouldn’t be able to smell him out, just from talking with him,” Jack said, perching on the corner of his desk. His arms crossed as his attention turned to the wall, staring at the photos of the girls, all fresh faced and hopeful, all gone without a trace. “I need him for this case, Dr. Lecter. It’s been weeks and we’ve got nothing to show for it. If word about Will’s status gets out to the bureau...”

“Then,” Hannibal said, a firm voice that brokered no argument. “The bureau will not find out.”

They lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Jack studied the wall, but Hannibal’s mind was elsewhere. “His problems may have a simple answer. Have you considered mating him yourself?”

Jack chuckled wryly, “My wife would kill me. Or him, she’s not the sharing kind of beta. Besides, if he’s kept this to himself for this long I can’t imagine Will would go down without a fight.”

“There is a solution to this,” Hannibal said, voice even and confidant. “When it presents itself, we will simply have to be prepared, whatever it may be.”

“Until then can I count on you, Dr Lecter? Someone needs to be his handler, even if the rest of the bureau can’t know the reason why.”

Hannibal stood to shake Jack’s outstretched hand. “It would be my pleasure.”

***

The problem with quietly losing your mind, Will reflected as he shivered in his boxer shorts in the cool morning air, is that sometimes you wake up on your roof. 

From his vantage point, Will could see the leaves in the trees rustle even before a new breeze washed across his skin. His body shivered, the worn cotton of his clothes no match for the fall air. Through the bedroom window he could see his dogs, agitated and pacing. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he told the anxious dog pack. “You know, you could have woken me up.”

The sound of a car engine, in the distance but rapidly approaching, caught Will’s attention. Through the tree branches he could just make out a sleek car as it turned on to the road leading to his house.

“Looks like we have company,” Will said to his dogs. He had just enough time to throw on some jeans and dry-swallow a tablet before the knock came at the door. 

“Dr. Lecter.” Will should be more surprised, but another night of interrupted sleep had robbed him of feeling useless things like surprise. “Are you usually in the habit of making house calls?”

“Please,” the psychiatrist said, standing on the threshold, a covered dish in his hands. “Call me Hannibal. I feel like we got off to a poor start yesterday in Jack’s office.”

Will blocked the doorway, his arms crossing his chest defiantly. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve come with a peace offering,” Hannibal said, taking a step forward. Before he could stop, Will found himself stepping backward and letting the other man into his home. It was unnerving, the way he instinctually deferred to Hannibal. As he followed Hannibal into his own kitchen, he opened his mouth to say something biting, but the smell that came from the dish Hannibal uncovered was surprisingly good. 

“Breakfast,” Hannibal declared. “Set the table, Will.”

Again, Will turned to obey before fully realizing it, but the way Hannibal was already divvying up sausages between two plates made saying something almost petty. With a perturbed sniff, Will did as he was told, setting his mismatched flatware on to the lopsided kitchen table. From the look of Hannibal’s attire, he was probably used to a nicer dining experience, and he looked out of place as he sat across from Will. To his credit, though, he didn’t so much as blink his displeasure.

“Eat,” he said gently and Will told himself it was only because it smelled so good that he obeyed like some house broken pet. “You left in such a hurry yesterday, I wanted to apologize if you found what I said offensive.”

“You and Jack deliberately set me up, back there. I found that offensive.”

“Then you misunderstand my intentions.” From the inner pocket of his beige suit jacket Hannibal fished out a form filled out in meticulously neat handwriting. “It’s your psychological evaluation. You’re totally functional, and more or less sane. Well done.”

Will didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. “Did you just rubber-stamp me?”

“Yes. Now, with that formality out of the way, we can continue our conversation unimpeded by paperwork.”

“What if I don’t want to have a conversation with you?” Even to his ears he sounded petulant, but it was the truth. Hannibal was a dangerous alpha to know, so used to getting his way that Will wasn’t sure he could fortify his walls strong enough to keep the other man out. 

“Tell me, do you surround yourself with dogs so that you can play at alpha here, even though you are an omega?”

The question was like a punch to Will’s gut, he found the air knocked out of his lungs. A sick, burning settled into his throat as he responded, rising aggressively out of his seat. “Now wait just a minute-”

“Please, Will, sit. Eat.” Will bit at the inside of his cheek even as his hands balled into fists as he fought the urge to do as he was told. Hannibal cut a calm glance to his hands, an eyebrow quirking up. “There is no need to get offended. It is not such a shameful thing to be.”

In the face of Hannibal’s blithe unconcern, Will could feel his anger melt away. Still, he protested, albeit weakly: “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“It’s true. I have not personally experienced what it is like to be an omega, just as you do not know what it is like to be anything other than what you are, no matter what you might have fooled others into believing.”

“If they knew what I am-”

“Then, what, Will? We are many decades past the omega’s lib movement. You can own property, hold down a job, vote.”

“I couldn’t work for the FBI,” Will pointed out testily.

“But do you want to? You said it yourself in Jack’s office yesterday: you didn’t care what the body count was as long as you were left alone.” 

Will opened his mouth to protest, but stopped short. A smile curled his lips as he said in admiration. “Cleverly done, Doctor. First you have me admitting my status, now I’m defending a job I don’t even want.”

Hannibal returned the smile, “And Jack thought you needed a gentler handling.”

“I guess I’m not as fragile as all that.”

“No, it would appear you are not. Now please, eat.” With the tension eased by mutual respect, Will did as he was told. “How can I help you with this Minnesota Shrike of Jack’s?”

As it turned out, there was quite a bit that Hannibal could offer Will to help him solve the case. The talking helped, of course and he was fascinated to watch the mind of a man so excessively omega that, when paired with such a fervid imagination, could simulate a bond with a complete stranger to even imagine how they killed. There was some subterfuge and the slight matter of impaling a young woman onto a stag’s head, but in the end Will was able to see what all the others could not, Hannibal included. 

Whatever annoyance Hannibal might have felt at that was erased as Hannibal followed the sound of gunshots and the trail of blood to the kitchen of Garrett Jacob Hobbs. There was a man, eyes glossy in death, propped against the cabinets and a young girl bleeding out on the tile floor. Best of all, there was Will, breath as unsteady as if he had run a mile, shaking and covered in blood. There was something so beautiful about the sight of an omega, the lowest of the low, soaked in the blood of his own violence, that Hannibal was arrested at the sight. 

He took a moment, breathed in the scent of gunpowder and savored the smells of adrenaline and death, before he knelt down to stopper the girl’s bleeding with a practiced hand. 

It was strange, to hold on to life when for so long his instinct was to let it drain away, but he could feel Will’s body slump gratefully in to his side. Will probably had no idea he was even doing it, but to Hannibal the warm weight of his body was like a brand. 

Who knows, the girl might prove useful, Hannibal thought, the sound of faraway sirens starting to pierce the air.


	2. Chapter 2

“Tell me about Will Graham,” Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier said, crossing her long legs as she stared Hannibal steadily in the eye. Her arctic beauty betrayed nothing with her question, her face as smooth as an iced over lake. 

“He is a patient,” Hannibal replied, meeting her blank expression with one of his own. At times he found the constant attempt to seem engaged with others tedious, it was a relief to be able to let his sociopathy show, if only for an hour a week. 

“Hannibal,” Bedelia chided.

“I find him interesting.”

“In what way?” 

Hannibal considered the question as he studied the glass in his hand. Swirling the stem with a seasoned hand, he watched the tears of wine as they steadily dripped down the glass’ surface. He was taking his time, he knew, but Bedelia was unmoved by such blatant power plays, and had the indefatigable patience of Job. 

Finally he answered. “He is an absolute omega. It colors everything he does and yet no one else knows it.”

“He must be clever.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you must be cleverer for having seen through his deception.”

Hannibal inclined his head. “I admit, it is part of my attraction toward him.”

“It makes you feel superior. That’s a very attractive thing to feel,” Bedelia acknowledged. “I hope that feeling of superiority is all you find attractive. I don’t need to bring up the ethics behind sleeping with someone that is both your patient and an omega.”

“I would be disciplined by the psychiatry board.”

Bedelia took a sip of her own wine. “You would lose your license. There is a distinction to be made between the two.”

“I find the notion that an omega is somehow less culpable of his own actions, merely because of the perceived traits inherent in his status, to be an antiquated one. I assure you, Will is fully capable of making his own mind up as to whether he wants to mate and with whom.”

“Be that as it may, the studies have yet to prove conclusively one way or the other. Until they do the moral thing is to leave Will Graham be.”

Hannibal had to smile at that. “When have you ever known me to be moral?”

“Amoral, yes. Immoral, no, not when your reputation is at stake. You are far too self-serving for that.” She uncrossed her legs, and Hannibal had to admire the smooth line from red high heel to her tight black skirt. “I understand the desire to study someone of his unusually fecund biological capacity, but he is not worth your professional ruin.”

“No,” Hannibal said, eyes steady on Bedelia, nothing betraying the lies spilling from his lips. “I suppose not.”

While Bedelia might believe having Will was professional suicide, Hannibal wasn’t convinced he couldn’t, as the quaint maxim went, have his cake and eat it, too. Watching Will pace along the book-lined walls of his office’s mezzanine, Hannibal was struck by the similarities between the man before him and a caged panther. The restless energy that poured off of him was palatable, and Hannibal could taste it in the air. 

“I don’t know what happened. One moment I was in my home, and the next I was at a crime scene, with no memory of leaving my house or anything that led up to it. I don’t remember the drive, I don’t remember talking to Jack, I don’t remember any of it.”

Back and forth he paced, his agitated hands scrubbing at his jaw, fiddling with his glasses, tapping the spine of Hannibal’s extensive rare book collection. “That is a distressing thing to have happen,” Hannibal noted as dispassionately as he could.

“You think?” Will’s knee jerk reaction of sarcasm gave way to contrite reflection. “What’s happening to me? Am I losing my mind or is this something even worse, some latent omega thing?”

“You are thirty-five and have yet to properly mate. The collective wisdom would have us believe that a degenerative mental state is the natural result.”

“And do you subscribe to the collective wisdom, doctor?” Will ground out the last word, so that Hannibal’s title was like ashes in his mouth.

“Personally, I have never found the collective to be particularly wise.”

Will laughed, unexpected and sweet. “That’s true enough.”

“Although, as your psychiatrist, I do find the continuing rejection of your natural inclinations troubling. You take something to suppress your hormones, yes?”

In response Will fished the bottle of aspirin from his pocket, shook the pills so that they rattled brightly in the surrounding plastic. 

“And I suppose you have been taking them for quite a while?”

“Since college, or some time around then,” Will said vaguely as he shrugged.

“That is a long time. Over time toxicity from the pills can build up in the body.”

“So I’ve heard,” Will said, unconcerned. Hannibal lapsed into silence, the only sound the soft tap tap as Will walked from one end of the railing to the other. Suddenly the footsteps stopped as Will peered down at Hannibal.

“Wait, are you saying the hormone blockers could be the reason I’ve gone off the rails?”

“They were never intended for long-term use,” Hannibal said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Instead, he let Will draw his own conclusions from the simple statement.

“But I can’t stop taking them now. Especially now. Everyone would _smell_ it on me,” his voice was disgusted at the thought.

“If it comes to a choice between your health and the opinions of others, I should hope your sense of self preservation would be stronger than that.”

“I couldn’t work for Jack anymore,” Will said.

“And you have begun to find meaning in the work you do with him?”

“I can help people. I can help Jack save lives. That’s important, worthwhile.”

Hannibal sat in his chair and looked up at his patient. Will’s arms were draped casually across the mezzanine's banister, his body loose and at ease. His eyes, though, were elsewhere, vision lost to some fluttering memory dredged from the vast playground of his imagination. Hannibal felt a pang of annoyance, to be left behind as Will explored his fervid thoughts.

“You saved Abigail Hobbs,” Hannibal struck out and he could see the reaction of Will’s body to the name, the way his shoulders curled imperceptibly inward. 

“I wouldn’t call shooting her father twelve times saving her,” Will said, self-loathing seething in the words.

“And yet, because of you her father was unable to finish slitting her throat,” Hannibal said. He watched, fascinated, as Will’s eyes darted back and forth. He watched as Will’s eidetic mind remembered, pulling up the scene in all of it’s blood-soaked glory. To direct another’s mind so specifically, so exactly, was a wonderful thing, and Hannibal could feel the first stirrings of a new fixation. 

“I spoke with Dr Bloom about Abigail recently. She said she is awake but lonely in the hospital. That she doesn’t get many visitors.” Will could see where this was leading, was shaking his head emphatically _no_. “Perhaps it would do both of you some good if you were to visit her.”

“What good could possibly come from seeing her?”

“Closure, for one thing. Garrett Jacob Hobbs is like a shadow, his presence lingers over you even now. Perhaps visiting his daughter is just what you need to lay this ghost of yours to rest.”

“I don’t do well with children,” Will said.

“Abigail Hobbs is hardly a child, for all that she is now an orphan.”

“No,” Will said, renewing his distressed pacing.

Hannibal leaned back into his chair, smoothed the fine fabric of his suit jacket. “Have you spent much time with children, Will?”

The other man’s pointed silence brought a smile to Hannibal’s mouth. “Denying your nature again?”

“I’m not the paternal type. Or _maternal_ for that matter.”

“Your biology would suggest otherwise.” Hannibal adjusted his sleeve. “Tell me, are you so afraid of becomingly overwhelmed by your maternal drive that you avoid children at all costs? So frightened, that you would deny comfort to a young woman in need?”

Closing his eyes, Hannibal savored this silence, the flavors of Will’s darting mind as it scrambled to reject his words. Finally, after long minutes came a defeated sigh from above.

“But you’ll come with me?”

“Of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

The hospital was as sterile and impersonal as Will had expected. The smell of sickness mopped over with bleach stung Will’s nose, made him pause at the threshold of room 305. A pulled white privacy curtain blocked him from looking too far, but his heart pounded at the thought of seeing the girl that lay just inside. Wiping moist hands on his pants he tried to collect himself, but more time must have passed than he realized because a heavy weight settled on his shoulder.

“I’m here, Will,” the affectation-less voice of Hannibal Lecter whispered so close to his ear he could feel the words as they brushed by. The hand curled around his neck, squeezing his nape in a gesture of comfort that was more intimate than it probably should have been. Will, however, wasn’t complaining. 

He was, however, hyper-aware of how near Hannibal was standing to him. A tiny shift of weight and the space between their bodies would be bridged. Hannibal gave a quick inhalation almost as if... 

“Did you just _smell_ me?”

“Forgive me, I was curious.” Hannibal sounded so normal, he could have been apologizing for anything. 

“So much for professional distance,” Will muttered. 

“Now you are stalling,” Hannibal said, with a gentle shove forward. “Go.”

Abigail Hobbs was sitting in bed with a faraway, bored look to her face. Her hands absentmindedly picked at the huge, white bandage on her slender neck. 

“Abigail?” Will said, tentative. “Abigail Hobbs?”

She looked up, her eyes round and impossibly blue. They caught Will’s for a moment, just for a moment, but it was excruciating. Despite himself, Will was trapped, examining her eyes for disgust or loathing or any number of other emotions. 

“I remember you. You’re the one that shot my dad.”

A hand at Will’s lower back ushered him closer to Abigail so that Hannibal could step into the room. “I am Dr. Lecter, this is Special Agent Will Graham.”

“Special agent,” she asked, curiously looking at Will but he had learned his lesson, he kept his gaze steadily on the speckled linoleum floor. “How do you get to be a _special_ agent?”

“Just call me Will,” he mumbled to the floor. 

Thank god for Hannibal, who covered Will’s embarrassment by reaching forward to fill the empty plastic cup by Abigail’s bed with a nearby pitcher of water. Abigail obediently drank when Hannibal pressed the refilled cup into her hand.

“You are looking well,” Hannibal said.

“I don’t know about well,” she said, absentmindedly stroking the bandage at her neck. “But I look alive. I guess that has to count for something. You’re a doctor?”

“A psychiatrist.”

“Like Dr. Bloom,” Abigail said. 

“Dr. Bloom and I have known one another for quite some time.”

“Friends?” 

“I like to think so, yes.”

“She’s nice,” Abigail said and her tone made Will laugh.

“You don’t sound so sure of that,” he said, relaxing into the easy rhythm of the conversation.

“She’s fine, I guess. I mean, she _means_ well and all. But it’s like talking to any of the shrinks the hospital keeps sending here, all the nurses and everyone else. They say they understand how hard this must be for me but they don’t really, do they?”

“Understand?” Will stepped closer, the better to hear the bitterness woven in amongst her soft words.

“Yeah. It’s not like they were there. You were,” she pressed expectantly at Will. “I remember your hands on my throat, keeping me from bleeding.”

Will shrugged and Hannibal once again stepped in. “Forgive me for being indelicate, but what else do you remember about that day?”

Arms crossed, defensive, Abigail settled into the bed. “I remember everything, just about. I know I was bleeding on the floor and you saved me. I remember my father, holding a knife to my throat telling me how he was going to make everything better. I remember the call my dad got, the one that made him go white, right before he slit my mom’s throat.”

“The call?” Will asked intently. 

“Yeah, some guy asked for my dad. I figured it was a telemarketer but what kind of a telemarketer makes a guy kill his family?”

Will shook his head, eyes dancing across the room as he became lost in thought. 

“Now I’m an orphan I guess. There doesn’t seem to be anyone left, since my mom was an only child and my dad never mentioned his side of the family.”

Will’s hand, when it touched Abigail’s was a surprising thing. Like a bird, it landed softly and just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. “You have us,” Will offered.

Hannibal didn’t even have to fake the smile that Will’s words inspired. 

By the time they left the hospital, the sky was a fine navy blue and growing darker by the minute. Inside the car Will was silent, his fingers tracing along his seat belt the only indication he was anything other than calm. Hannibal relaxed into the silence, let Will take his time as he processed his over-productive thoughts.

“Thank you,” Will said at last. “For making me visit her. It was... You were right, I was afraid. For my own selfish reasons I was afraid to see her, but I’m glad I went.”

Hannibal flicked the indicator as he pulled the car into a left turn lane, hands as practical and adept as when he did anything else. “Did you feel any compulsions? Any hormonal desires to breed offspring of your own?”

“Not to breed, no. But I do feel a responsibility for her, which I wasn’t anticipating. Is that an omega thing, do you think?”

Hannibal paused, gave the question the consideration Will seemed to crave. “The Babylonian Talmud has a saying: ‘Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.’”

“I killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs, I destroyed his soul.”

“And in so doing you saved Abigail’s life and her world. That is quite a responsibility, quite a burden to bear, holding the weight of another’s world on your shoulders.” 

“Just call me Atlas,” Will quipped sardonically. He became quiet, and in a hushed voice asked: “What if I can’t bear it? The responsibility? I know what people, society, thinks about omegas like me. That we’re weak, softer, more apt to break. I have fought against my nature for so long, to carve my own place in the world, but what if there’s no hope for me?”

Hannibal very deliberately pulled the car to the side of the road. The lights of the interstate threw Will’s face half into shadows, but Hannibal had no trouble finding the other man’s neck in the darkness, pulling him so that they were facing one another. Will’s eyes were wide, his breathing high, as Hannibal slid his hand until it was clasping Will’s throat.

“You are the strongest man I know,” Hannibal said, forcing Will to look into his eyes so that he could see the conviction in his words. Then, he leaned over and pressed a single kiss to Will’s mouth. It wasn’t anything more than that, just a meeting of lips and a sharing of breath. And despite every instinct that thrummed through Hannibal’s body to take Will now, he left it at only one kiss. 

They didn’t say anything more the rest of the drive, the silence and the darkness thick in the spaces between them. But later, when Hannibal stole a glance at the other man, he could see Will staring out the window, his fingers motionless where they pressed against his lips, a small smile curling behind his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of porcelain rattling downstairs was what roused Hannibal.

Although he had a predator’s ability to wake quickly and with a decided lack of confusion, Hannibal took his time sliding into his robe and securing the belt in place before heading to address the intruder. He cast a glance to his night table, where he kept a particularly nasty blade from his childhood, but decided against it. Whatever poor unfortunate that had chosen his home to burgle in the night, Hannibal was confidant he could subdue them easily. He was, after all, quite good at improvising. 

Following the noises led Hannibal to his kitchen, where he stopped to examine the scene before him. 

It had been many days since he had seen Will Graham, the other man suddenly becoming scarce after their kiss by the side of the road. Hannibal knew enough about Will from their work together to recognize he would need time to examine every implication of the brief contact, but he was willing to take that time if it meant Will would come to him on his terms. He considered it an exercise in asceticism, a necessary practice from time to time, if terribly tedious. How fortunate, then, that it seemed Will’s unconscious mind had made the decision his conscious one had avoided.

Will’s eyes were mere slits, his eyes darting about in a deep REM cycle. His thin cotton boxers and night shirt clung to his body, sweat glistening across his brow and above his lip. When Hannibal looked down he could see Will’s feet were bare, dirt and grass stained his skin. He took a moment to admire the view of Will in as vulnerable a state as he might ever be. Hannibal could do whatever he liked and he was sure Will would be docile, pliant in sleep like he never was when awake. 

It was a shame to wake him up but, once Hannibal’s gaze had drunk their fill, he brusquely took Will’s shoulders between his hands and gave the man a firm shake. Will’s eyes snapped open, and without the usual protective distance provided by thick rimmed glasses, his eyes were wonderfully blue. His dark hair was wild, his jaw unshaven, and it was an effort for Hannibal to take a step away as Will got his bearings. 

“What is your name?”

“What-” Will said foggily.

“Please, indulge me. Do you know your name?”

“Will Graham. Hannibal what am I-”

“It seems you have been sleep walking, and quite some distance, too.”

“My feet hurt.”

“I am not surprised; you are not wearing shoes.”

“I don’t understand, did I _walk_ all this way?”

“That would be a greater undertaking than I believe even you could accomplish in your sleep.”

“Then how did I _get_ here?” Will was awake now and Hannibal watched as he became visibly agitated, as the faint sheen of sweat on his face and red, glassiness in eyes became more pronounced. He took the opportunity to sniff the air and was pleased that the distant scent of illness hovering over Will had changed, deepened. “How did I-”

“Will.” Hannibal cut in, his voice brokered no argument and Will fell obediently silent despite his mounting hysteria. “That is a mystery for another day. For now, sit down. Let me see to your feet.”

Hannibal left Will sitting on the kitchen’s counter top, something that under normal circumstances he would find unbearably uncouth, but desperate times and all that. After collecting his first aid kit from the bathroom he returned to find Will with his head tilted, examining the ceiling. His throat was bared, deliciously so, but Hannibal could wait. 

“I was trying to make you breakfast,” Will said, not moving from his perusal of the ceiling as Hannibal opened the kit and lined the supplies meticulously along the counter, near Will’s hip. 

“Well, I suppose it would be the polite thing to do, seeing as I’ve already made breakfast for you once.” Hannibal opened a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, the crack of plastic heralding the smell of antiseptic. “Your timing could use some work.”

“I get that a lot,” Will said, voice dry. 

Will’s jaw clenched as Hannibal made a first pass at cleaning his feet, but to his credit he didn’t so much as breathe in discomfort. Once he could see better, Hannibal inspected the skin closely. He took up a set of tweezers and, after rising to turn on the amber light above the stove, he began to extract splinters of wood and shards of glass. 

“You’re pretty good at that,” Will said. 

Hannibal didn’t look up from his work. “You forget, I was once an emergency room doctor.”

“That’s right,” agreed Will, setting his jaw once more as Hannibal worked out a piece of glass that was deeply embedded in his heel. 

“Tell me, what were you planning on making me for breakfast?”

“Excuse me?” Will gritted as Hannibal found another shard.

“You need a distraction, and I’m curious.”

“And we both know what kinds of things happen when you’re curious,” Will said. He was still thinking back on that day at the hospital, Hannibal was pleased to realize. “Um, okay, breakfast. Right. Well, I’m not really the best at cooking, nothing compared to you.”

“Few are,” Hannibal allowed.

“I guess I was dreaming of making eggs or something. I can handle making eggs, usually.”

“Fried? Poached?” 

Will’s chuckle became a hiss as Hannibal liberally applied more hydrogen peroxide. “Scrambled is all I can manage. Even then, only on a good day.”

“And is today a good day, Will?”

“Good days are becoming few and far between.” As Hannibal twisted the cap on the bottle of antiseptic Will started to jump off the counter, but he was stopped by Hannibal’s hand on his knee. 

“Please,” Hannibal said as he broke the plastic on a package of gauze.

“Really, it’s okay,” Will started but he was stopped as Hannibal gracefully dropped to his knees and slowly unwound the white fabric. 

“I just took great pains to tend to your injuries. I would hate for you to become infected after all my work.”

“I’m not-”

But Hannibal ignored him and began to wind the gauze around a clean, reddened foot. “I insist.”

Will’s cheeks blazed in embarrassment as Hannibal worked, as professionally and impersonally as he had tended to patients in his past. 

“You shouldn’t be kneeling,” Will said, finally.

“Oh?” Hannibal asked, turning his attention to Will’s other foot. 

“I broke into your house in the middle of the night.”

“You are a welcome intruder.”

“You’re an alpha,” Will pressed on. “You shouldn’t be kneeling.”

“I feel no shame on my knees,” Hannibal said. “Should I?”

“I would.”

“Ah,” Hannibal said, cutting a strip of tape to affix the bandaging in place. “Well I am quite secure in my status, whereas you have yet to learn that there can be real power in submitting to another.” Will looked skeptical, though he held his tongue. 

“For example...” Hannibal’s voice trailed off as he lay his cheek on Will’s calf. Peering up from the fringe of his sleep-tousled hair, he could see Will was holding stock-still, as skittish as a deer as it smelled a predator in the breeze. He was transfixed, motionless, and Hannibal could feel that, at last, his days of restraint had come to an end.

Turning, he pressed his triumphant smile to Will’s knee, hiding his victory with a kiss.

“That’s-” Will said, voice hoarse, and Hannibal shushed him as he grazed his teeth lightly across the sensitive skin of Will’s inner thigh. His palms lightly cupped the bottoms of Will’s injured feet, gently pulling them away from one another until he had Will’s legs spread apart. Moving closer, he filled the space between Will’s thighs with his body, even as he mouthed past the fine hair on Will’s legs to the cotton of his boxers. 

Will’s hands clenched the edge of the counter and Hannibal reached up to grab his wrists, placing them on his head. Immediately Hannibal could feel Will’s fingers tighten, grasping at Hannibal’s hair as he breathed hot air over the straining bulge of Will’s cock. 

“Do you doubt my power over you,” Hannibal asked, teasing Will with his breath and nothing else. 

“What?” Will asked, bleary with want.

“I am still on my knees,” he pointed out, as rational as he was in their therapy sessions. “And yet, I have you exactly as I want you.”

“Yes,” Will agreed.

“I want you to say it. Tell me that I have power over you.”

The muscles in Will’s abdomen were trembling, as skittish as a colt, as he shook his head. “I can’t-”

“Tell me,” Hannibal ordered, but Will was biting his lip, his face a study of misery. Still fighting, my poor Will, Hannibal thought. He nipped at Will’s thigh and got a yelp in return.

“Will.”

On a breath that shook with effort, Will complied. “You have power over me.”

Will found himself pulled to the edge of the counter and down, landing softly so that he stood over the alpha. Hannibal’s mouth found the tip of Will’s leaking cock through thin cotton, lapping at it as Will groaned above him. With hands as gentle as when he had wrapped Will’s feet, Hannibal eased the elastic of the other man’s underwear down, baring Will at last. 

“Oh God,” Will said, devastated when Hannibal took him fully into his mouth. It was wonderful to feel the omega pulling at his hair, submitting to him even as Hannibal tongued the slit at the tip of Will’s cock. The head was smooth as Hannibal laved pre-cum away with a restless tongue.

“I’m not going to last,” Will admitted, which only made Hannibal suck harder. “Hannibal, please, I won’t-”

“Do it,” Hannibal said pulling away, hands pumping Will with a firm grip. “I want you to mark me.”

“Hannibal-” he stuttered. 

“On my face. Now.”

And Will obeyed.

When he had caught his breath, Will could see Hannibal was still on his knees. He had cum moving sluggishly down the sharp cut of his cheekbone and across the bare expanse of his throat. Curious, Will reached down and dipped his fingers into the milky liquid, already cool to the touch. Hannibal took Will’s wrist, holding him immobile as he licked Will’s fingers clean. 

“Let me-” Will started, sliding down until he knelt next to Hannibal. He reached for the knot of Hannibal’s robe, but Hannibal smoothly pulled away. 

“That isn’t necessary.”

“But-”

“I was proving a point,” he said as he reached up for a dishcloth hanging from the oven door, cleaning off his face. 

“I want to,” Will said, his voice containing a wisp of disappointment.

“Have dinner with me.”

“What?”

“Tonight. Let me prepare a meal for us.”

“Like a date?” Will asked incredulously.

“Very much like one.”

“I’d like that,” Will said, tipping his head to capture Hannibal’s mouth with a hungry kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

The phone rang just as Hannibal was tenderizing a set of lungs, freshly whisked marinade in a clear bowl by his elbow. 

“Yes?” Hannibal asked, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“It’s me,” came Will’s voice, just as Hannibal had anticipated it would.

“Will,” he said. “I hope you are not calling to back out of our plans. I have just acquired the most beautiful cuts of meat.”

Will’s sigh was hollow, coming through a distance of many miles of shipping crates, and Hannibal could just imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. “I’m so sorry.”

“I see,” Hannibal said, letting his voice flatten. “If I was too forward last night-”

“No!” Will startled. “No it’s, well-” small chuckle “-it’s not you, it’s me. Or the Ripper, at any rate.”

“Oh?” Hannibal asked as he gently placed the lungs into the marinade, liquid sluicing over the bowl’s lip. 

“Jack called me a few hours ago, it looks like it’s going to be a late night at the crime scene.”

“Ah,” Hannibal sopped the spill over with a clean dish towel. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “I was really looking forward to dinner.”

“It’s just as well, it will give the meat time to marinate properly.”

“And me enough time to stomach meat, after dealing with what the Ripper left here.” Hannibal smiled; he had found particular inspiration as he lay the scene, imagining Will’s horror as he was forced to recreate the terrible act through the filter of his fertile imagination. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being so understanding-” he sounded as if he meant to go on but he bit back a curse. Hannibal called Will’s name. “Dammit. Sorry. It’s Freddie Lounds. This is not what I need right now.”

“Who?” Hannibal asked, though he recognized the name easily. “Another agent?” 

“No, she’s the- well, the ‘journalist’ from that website Tattlecrime. I’m sorry, I need to go, Jack is going to be pissed. Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Hannibal promised. “Tomorrow.”

The extra day gave Hannibal the time to prepare a truly spectacular presentation. Not as showy as he would create for a dinner party, of course, that would only make Will uncomfortable. The true genius was in his restraint, paying particular attention to the detailing, making every mouthful into its own masterpiece.

His effort was wasted, though, as Will’s fever-bright eyes kept sliding from his plate, becoming lost in his inner world. Will was preoccupied by the Ripper’s latest murder, and it was approaching farce to be jealous of his own alter-ego. Still he couldn’t help the petty urge that had him setting down his knife with a vicious clatter. The sound spooked Will, startling him back.

Will took off his glasses, fisted his eyes until Hannibal could see the red impression of where he rubbed. “I’m a terrible guest. After all the trouble you went to.”

“It was no trouble at all-” _It was._ “-I was going to eat today anyway.”

Will laughed ruefully. “Well that’s better than I was going to get to.”

“Are you not eating?”

“Not eating, barely sleeping. But I’m fine, life goes on. _Jack_ goes on.”

“When your body shuts down, you might find that no longer to be the case. Jack or no, you must take better care of yourself.”

“I just keep seeing him.”

“Jack?” Will shook his head. “Who, Will?”

Will started to speak but stopped short. “I’m sorry, this was supposed to be a date and here I am making it into a therapy session.”

“Why can’t it be both? I’ve been remiss in my capacity as your psychiatrist.”

“I can’t imagine _why_ ,” Will said, smiling wolfishly into his plate.

“You’re deflecting and I’m not so easily distracted. Who do you keep seeing?”

Will sighed, sat back in his chair as his arms crossed. Hannibal stared at him, a silent test of wills. Finally, he capitulated with a grimace. “Garrett Jacob Hobbs.”

“In your dreams?”

“I’m finding it...” Will paused, searching, before settling on: “ _difficult_ to tell the difference between being asleep and being awake these days.”

“Do you see him now?” Hannibal’s voice gave nothing away. Will shook his head, slumping, ashamed. Hannibal wiped his mouth with his napkin before standing, making his way to where Will sat. His hand found Will’s chin and he tipped the other man’s head back and back until he could see the distressed lines of his face, the sheen of tears held back by sheer obstinacy. “We will find an answer to this problem, Will. I haven’t given up on you yet, all I ask is you do the same.”

Hannibal stroked the corner of Will’s eye, pulling at the skin fold gently so that the moisture loosened. He watched as a tear spread, like a blood stain, soaking Will’s dark eyelashes and wiped it away with a swipe of a thumb. 

“You must take better care of yourself,” he said, pressing his thumb to Will’s lips, marking the soft flesh with his own tear. 

Will nodded and Hannibal let him go to reach behind him, deftly cutting a morsel of pan-seared lung and holding it to Will’s mouth.

“I can feed myself,” Will protested, but there was no heat in his words.

“I’m beginning to have my doubts on that front.” Hannibal pulled the fork away as Will’s hands came up to take it. “Let me.”

Will sighed and opened his mouth, capitulating at last. They continued on like that, Hannibal standing over Will, feeding him bite after bite, until his plate was clean. Hannibal watched closely as Will took in what he was offered, savoring as Will savored, his hands spread, obedient and still, in his own lap. Finally, when the final bite was chewed and swallowed Hannibal swooped down for a kiss, tasting the last of his meal on Will’s tongue.

When they broke apart, Will’s eyes stayed shut and he whispered: “Thank you.”

Hannibal could hear that that simple acknowledgment had been pulled from some place deep and troubled, how much Will’s gratitude had cost Will’s pride. He could not help the hunger that arose in him as he took Will’s mouth, more brutal than he had allowed himself until now. He bit at Will’s upper lip, ferocious, and Will responded in kind meeting his fervor with an equally eager mouth. 

“Come upstairs with me,” Hannibal said into the hollow of Will’s throat. He could feel as Will’s throat constricted as he swallowed, nodded. 

“Yes.”


	6. Chapter 6

Hannibal’s bedroom was just as dark and inscrutable as the man himself, which didn’t surprise Will very much. 

Will had followed Hannibal up the stairs readily enough, but when they got through the doorway he found himself balking at the sight of the maroon bed linens. Will’s heart began to pound as he realized what a terrible idea this was, following an alpha to his bedroom, especially one as dominant as Hannibal, when he had run screaming from this sort of thing his entire life. It was made all the worse as he he realized that, thus far, he didn’t have the best track record at denying the other man anything. 

Day after day he found Hannibal chipping away at the resolve he had built up since puberty had swept in and knocked him sideways with a paralyzing assortment of hormones and desires. Back when he realized there was something horribly different about Will that mere autism couldn’t explain away. 

Unthinking, his hand wandered to the pocket of his pants, where he always left a spare hormone blocker in case of emergencies. Will’s jacket, left downstairs in the foyer with the bottle of aspirin safely tucked inside, definitely made this an emergency. It wasn’t quite time for his next dose, but that had never stopped Will before. The pill was round, and comforting in it’s familiarity as he plucked at it with his thumb and index finger. 

Hannibal’s back was turned as he shrugged out of his coat and removed his cufflinks, somehow anticipating Will’s cold feet and giving him time to adjust to his surroundings. It was like everything else Hannibal could anticipate about Will, like the other man was somehow already merged with him. Like he could read his thoughts, as those old wives’ tales on bonding went. 

Will dry swallowed the pill, years of experience making the action easy and unremarkable. Even though he knew it would take a few minutes to enter his blood stream, he could already feel himself relax, knowing that at least whatever happened he wouldn’t be at the mercy of his omegan hormones. 

“Conspicuous consumption, thy name is Hannibal Lecter,” Will said, wandering the room, exploring with inquisitive fingers. 

“I like exquisite things,” Hannibal said, unembarrassed. 

Will snorted, “Then how do you explain me?”

Hannibal sat on the bed to remove his shoes and Will’s mouth dried at the intimacy inherent in such a small, mundane action. “Fishing for a compliment, Will?”

Will turned away to avoid the question. As he explored, he found himself drawn to a sculpture on the nightstand. He lifted the surprisingly heavy stone figurine, its face worn smooth with age. Holding it up, he examined the art in the dim light.

“From my time spent in Japan,” Hannibal explained. “Estimated to be from the seventh century.”

Will’s eyes bulged and he very carefully put the sculpture back where he found it. 

“‘Exquisite things,’ huh?”

“I’m afraid it is my weakness.” 

When Will turned back around his lungs seized in surprise. Hannibal was nude, his clothes all meticulously folded away. Will’s eyes darted about, not sure whether he should look at the man or not, his gaze wandering down before he could pull it up sharp to look at the distant wall. He settled on removing his glasses so that all he could see was the general blur of a body. 

Hannibal was as calm, as unaffected as ever. He wore his nudity like a three piece suit and stood, neither hiding himself nor presenting, merely inhabiting the space with customary conviction. 

“You are uncomfortable,” Hannibal noted as dispassionately as he spoke in his office. 

“No,” Will lied quickly. Hannibal crossed the room, gently taking Will by the throat, the gesture comfortably familiar now. Will’s head tipped back, eyes closed, as Hannibal lightly pressed their lips together. He buried his nose in the sensitive skin behind Will’s ear and inhaled. Goosebumps broke out across Will’s skin. Hannibal paused, pulled away.

“You smell different.”

“I- uh- I took a suppressant.” Will stammered under the scrutiny.

“Ah,” Hannibal said, stepping back. “I see.”

Will cleared his throat, nervous suddenly. “Listen, there’s something I want to-”

He found words escaping him so he just stood there. Hannibal, sensing his agitation, stepped further away. “Am I moving this along too quickly?”

“It’s not that, I just think I need to say-” but he couldn’t continue.

“What are you feeling, Will?” Hannibal was in full-on shrink mode and if _that_ wasn’t a mood killer, Will didn’t know what was. Hannibal held out his hand, leading Will to the bed with a platonic touch. “Sit.”

Will’s hands clenched in his lap and he stared down as his fingers twined and untwined. He took a deep breath and, like jumping into a lake on a spring day, just got it over with. “I don’t want to mate with you.”

Hannibal said nothing, which was the only reason Will found the ability to continue. “I want to sleep with you but, the whole mating thing, that’s not something I can do. If that’s not what you’re interested in- what you want- I understand. I can leave.”

“I can’t say I am not disappointed,” the bed dipped as Hannibal sat, the distance between their bodies carefully left free. “But I understand.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“What I want is irrelevant. What do you want?”

“I want to stay,” Will said quickly. “I just- I don’t-”

“I won’t force you, if that is what you are worried about.” Will slumped, equal parts relieved and embarrassed to have his darkest fears found out. “I am no more a slave to my nature than you are.”

“But in the heat of the moment-” Will started, but Hannibal’s hand found his shoulder, turned him so they were facing one another. 

“In the heat of the moment, I will follow your lead.”

Impulsively Will pulled Hannibal to him, kissing with teeth and tongue until they were both panting in want. His body was broad, solid, the muscles of Hannibal’s back defined enough to ripple under Will’s touch. Unimpeded by clothing, Will’s hands were able to wander the planes of Hannibal’s body, sliding lower as Hannibal hummed appreciatively. 

To be fully clothed, shoes and all, while Hannibal wasn’t was a turn on, almost unbearably so, and soon Will found himself straddling the other man’s hips, with no recollection of which of them instigated the pose. 

Hannibal stopped Will with a hand to his chest. “Will. Take off your clothes.” 

“Please,” he added when Will didn’t move. 

Sitting back on his heels, Will began to unbutton his shirt. Hannibal’s attention was a burning thing, and he could feel himself flush hotly in it’s wake. He stripped as quickly as he could to cover the awkwardness of undressing, baring himself as the other man watched. 

Hannibal propped himself up on his elbows, his cock hardening, leaving no doubt that he was enjoying the view. It was unnerving to see the head of Hannibal’s cock swell, knowing what that extra girth at the end’s purpose was, but he trusted Hannibal as a man of his word that there wouldn't be any mating tonight.

Will slid so that he could stand, working his pants down his legs. Before he could turn back toward the bed, however, Hannibal’s hand came to rest on his bare hip. 

“Stay there,” Hannibal said. He could hear the mattress creak as Hannibal moved. Still, he startled at the brush of lips on his lower back. Teeth grazed the space where thigh met buttock and Will bit back a groan at the assault on such vulnerable skin. 

“Do you trust me?” Hannibal asked and though he wasn’t wholly certain, Will nodded his head nonetheless. 

The air was cold, he decided, was why he shivered when Hannibal’s palms found his ass. Open mouthed kissed were laved on to the skin there, but soon the sucking turned to biting, each harder than the last. He could imagine his blood pooling in bruises at the onslaught and his cock, already half hard, was filling at the sensation. When Hannibal’s tongue entered him, Will tensed, softening, but as a hand crept around to cup him he was soon hard again. 

“God that’s good,” Will muttered as Hannibal’s tongue darted in and out, a lewd parody of a kiss, and he could feel Hannibal agree with a hum. The hand on his cock twisted, and Will’s head fell back, losing himself to the ministrations. 

It was some time before Will was released, Hannibal pulling away so that he could force Will on to his lap.

“One day,” he said, arranging Will’s pliant body so that he could feel heat of the other man’s cock teasing where his tongue had been moments before. “You are going to want me to fuck you. You are going to beg me to.”

“Oh yeah?” Will challenged, but his voice wavered. “You’re that sure of yourself?”

Hannibal’s hips bucked in unconscious need and there was some part of Will, something wild and reckless, that wanted to sit back and take him in. To impale himself. He knew it was lust fogging his rationality, but he almost wished Hannibal _was_ the kind of alpha to force him despite their earlier conversation. 

Of course if Hannibal was, this thing that was so fragile and new between them would be severed forever, but he couldn’t help the fantasy of it. 

“I’m that sure of _you_ ,” Hannibal said, biting down on the scruff of Will’s neck. 

Will turned, twisting so that he could pin Hannibal to the bed, holding the man’s wrists above his head. He rolled his pelvis experimentally, closing his eyes at Hannibal’s groan. Will’s thighs trembled with effort as he hovered over Hannibal’s hips, the tip of his cock so close to Will’s hole and it would be so easy to work the thickness inside until he could feel nothing else. He’d imagined what it would be like, years of nights spent fantasizing about having someone where he’d only ever let his own fingers explore before, too scared to ever let another person get that close. 

“Will,” Hannibal gasped, as undone as Will had ever seen the other man. His mouth opened, like he was trying to get words out, but every time Will’s hips moved his face went slack. He kept at it, watching the frustration coloring Hannibal’s face, amused. Finally, when Hannibal flipped him to the side, Will could only laugh.

“And you were worried I wouldn’t find power through submission.”

“I have created a monster,” Hannibal intoned as he reached for the night stand, extracting a foil packet and a tube. His hands were as efficient as ever, as he rolled a condom on to Will’s cock. Will thought his heart might have stopped when Hannibal, as casually as he smoothed down his ties, covered his fingers in lube and reached behind himself, worked himself open.

“I want you,” Will said, voice husky.

“Then you shall have me,” Hannibal said, amused as he straddled Will’s hips and sank down on his cock. 

***

When Will woke with a shout, it was the eyes of Garrett Jacob Hobb’s- cloudy with death- that followed him from his dreams. He scrubbed at his face until his vision went white with the pressure, but still he couldn’t erase the image of those milky eyes.

“Will?” Hannibal asked, voice muffled, half-asleep.

With a shock, Will sat up and realized where he was, even as he became aware of the sweat soaking the sheets underneath him and the stink of fear in the air.

“Dammit,” Will said into the darkness. “I didn’t mean to stay here. I meant to go home.”

The mattress creaked and Will realized suddenly that Hannibal was reaching for the lamp. 

“Don’t,” he said, too loudly. “Please, just don’t.”

“Alright,” Hannibal said, settling back down. “I won’t.”

 

Will lay back, the sheets clinging uncomfortably to his sweat-tacky skin, but he hardly noticed as he tried to slow his racing heart. 

“Where are you, Will?” Hannibal asked, his voice intent as if he had actually been awake for hours. How did he always know the right questions to ask?

“I’m not sure,” Will replied, broken. 

“Do you see anything, any _one_ , right now?” 

Will blinked and suddenly the room was full of antlers, the naked body of a girl pierced and gutted where she hung like a portrait. Blood, thick as oil, flowed off her body. Somewhere just beyond he could see Garrett Jacob Hobb’s familiar figure as it watched with those terrible eyes.

He couldn’t speak past his horror, he could only nod.

“Tell me what I can do.”

“Please,” Will could hear the desperation in his voice. He reached for Hannibal’s arm, his fingernails biting into the flesh of his bicep. “Please, I need to know if I’m awake.”

Hannibal smiled, glad for the cover of darkness. He rolled over until his full weight was on top of Will, grinding him down into the sweat and tears left woven amongst the bed linens. There was a burn as Will’s fingernails cut down his back and Hannibal retaliated with a mouthful of shoulder, biting down until Will’s panting turned to screams. 

Will was just as beautiful now in his wretched need as he had been in the depths of his night terror, when he had been shaking and jerking, trying futilely to escape the words Hannibal whispered into his ear.


	7. Chapter 7

“You know I have a twenty-four hour cancellation policy,” Hannbal said, amused, as Will blinked in confusion. The heel of Hannibal’s shoes clicked smartly in the cavernous class room. “Bedelia is no different.”

“What time is it?” WIll asked, voice foggy, as he struggled to reconcile his surroundings with his dream of moments before. 

“Very nearly nine. You had an appointment scheduled for 7:30, she called me when she couldn’t reach you.”

“I must have fallen asleep,” Will said and Hannibal reached toward him, cradling a flushed cheek in his palm. 

Hannibal felt a shiver of triumph when WIll instinctively turned his face into Hannibal’s hand, seeking comfort in his touch.

“Your eyes were open,” he said, stepping closer so that he wouldn’t miss the look of disgust that flashed behind Will’s red-rimmed blue eyes. “Good dreams, I hope?”

Will sighed, pulled away. “Weird dreams. I dreamt of Abigail. I went to see her today, so she was on my mind.”

“I did not realize you were still visiting Abigail,” Hannibal said, pleased. 

“Yeah,” Will said vaguely, occupied still by his dream. “We were sitting, like we were at a dining room table, only it was outdoors. I could feel the breeze... it felt so real. It _smelled_ so real.”

“The subconscious has a tendency to speak to us in metaphors that at first examination seem foreign but soon their meaning becomes clear.”

“She called me ‘Dad’,” Will said, leaning back in his chair with a wry smile.

Hannibal laughed. “And other times it is not so subtle.”

“You’re telling me,” Will said, his restless gaze landing on the photographs strewn across his desk. “It would be a blessing to have a dream that was about cigars or falling instead of something so... literal.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, as he lifted a photo to inspect. The high resolution of the image really did wonders to set off the familiar arrangements of viscera. “I can understand why your dreams have been troubled. Is this a current case?”

Will shook his head, “Just reviewing the files of my old friend the Ripper. Trying to see if there’s something I’ve missed.”

“These are quite brutal.”

“Yeah,” Will said, standing so that he could look over Hannibal’s shoulder. “But there is a grace to them. A sort of beauty in the presentation that tends to get overlooked.”

Will picked out a photograph from the pile and Hannibal was pleased to note by the softened edges and the smudged fingerprints that this was a particular favorite of Will’s.

“There’s a narrative here, and a perspective. A certain grace that elevates it from just a tawdry killing.”

“You speak as if it is a work of art.”

Will blinked, shook his head to clear it from whatever twisted pathways it was following. “It is. A terrible, disturbing work of art that I can’t escape from, not even when I close my eyes.”

Hannibal knew he shouldn’t tip his hand but Will’s words made him feel reckless, so he reached over and pulled him into a kiss. The photograph in his hand was crushed between their bodies as Hannibal clutched the other man to his chest. Will met him, just as eager for the contact, no doubt in an attempt to drive away the macabre visions that plagued his mind. It was too bad that his words had only inspired Hannibal. He was even more eager to prove to Will that he could create masterpieces, especially now that he had found his muse at last. 

The sound of approaching footsteps made Will jerk away, just in time to see Jack come striding into the room. 

“Dr. Lecter,” Jack said, pleasantly surprised, and Will could feel his cheeks burning even though he knew rationally that Jack hadn’t caught them at anything. Hannibal’s hands were casually tucked into his pockets, Will’s still clutching the photograph to his chest like a shield. “What a fortunate surprise. How would you like to help us catch a killer?”

“You know I am always ready to lend a hand,” Hannibal said, smiling as he thought of Miriam Lass, or a part of her at any rate. 

“Excellent. Will? There’s been a break in the organ donor case.”

It was an eventful four hours later that saw the two men back at Hannibal’s house, making out like a couple of teenagers on the sofa in his living room. Two glasses of wine sat untouched on the low table in front of them as Will mouthed down Hannibal’s chest, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He stopped when he saw the smudge of blood soaked into the fine fabric. 

“Will?” Hannibal prompted when the other man went still, considering. Will’s fingertip traced the space around the now-brown stain.   
“Tonight, back in the ambulance. You were-” he started, but stopped, unsure how to proceed. 

It wasn’t normal, to say he might have fallen a bit in love with Hannibal when his hands had been inside another man’s torso. Then again, Hannibal had never made Will feel anything but accepted, for all that Will was a walking freak show of abilities and debilitating insecurities.

He gave up. It was passed midnight and Will, for one, was tired of psychoanalyzing his feelings. Instead, he unbuckled Hannibal’s belt, pulling the zipper down as he bent his head towards the doctor’s lap. If he couldn’t tell Hannibal how he felt, he could at least _show_ him.

Hannibal murmured appreciatively when Will took him into his mouth. What he lacked in finesse he more than made up for in eagerness. He ran his fingers through Will’s wild curls, taking thick fistfuls in his hands when WIll bent to take Hannibal’s length deep into his throat.

As eager to please as Will was, though, Hannibal knew the other man would need more than a little coaxing if he was ever going to let Hannibal have him the way the alpha wanted to. And though Hannibal had tried to lead by example, to show Will there was no shame in bottoming, he was getting impatient. 

Hannibal’s culinary experience, however, had taught him that impatience led to mistakes, and to say that Hannibal was not fond of mistakes would be an understatement. Like any chef, he knew that one had to develop a keen sense of timing, to know the right moment to take a slow simmer into a boil, to know when a properly executed flash of heat would singe and still leave the center succulent. He knew the opportunity would present itself, eventually, and he would seize it. Soon enough he would watch Will burn.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus Will begins what I have written up in my notes as ["crazy town banana pants"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Q3AiDVJs2A). Enjoy!
> 
> ~~~

Will washed his hands, the water as cold as he could stand as it flowed from pipes laying in ground covered with snow. He rubbed his hands together, staring dully as the pink water eventually turned clear. If only his conscious could be wiped clean as easily as skin. 

He felt hounded. He felt hunted, only the one in the dark woods holding a gun was his own mind, and no matter how fast or how far he ran he couldn’t get away. He could feel the looming presence of his ruin, just out of sight, and he wondered how long now- _weeks? days?_ \- before, like an iced over pond stood on too soon, it splintered, cracked under the enormous weight of his mental deterioration.

It was getting worse. _He_ was getting worse and he could see it in Beverly’s face when he opened the door of that dead girl’s bedroom covered in her blood. He could see it now in that stony glare of Jack’s as he slammed out the kitchen door to the winter-frozen porch. 

“What the hell happened back there?” Jack demanded.

“I-” Will tried. “I just got a little lost.”

“A _little_ lost? Will, you were covered in the victim’s blood. You contaminated the crime scene! You’ve never done that before.”

Will’s hands twitched, ached to remove his glasses, to distance himself from the man simmering in anger, but he left them fisted at his sides. This was his punishment and he was going to face whatever Jack chose to dole out. But instead of lashing out, Jack sighed, his body visibly deflating with the sound. 

“Help me out here, Will. I need you to tell me what’s going on with you. Is this-” he glanced around, lowering his voice. “Is this an omega thing?”

Will’s body jerked, the patience in Jack’s voice marking the word more of an insult than if he had punched Will in the gut. “What are you saying, Jack? Are you calling me weak? Think I can’t handle a little blood?”

“Don’t you even,” Jack said, furious as he stepped into Will’s face. “I have put too much on the line for you- I have risked my ass to get you out here working these cases- don’t you dare make me into some kind of bigot.”

He took a step back, and looked at Will in a way he hadn’t let himself in quite some time. On some level, he knew that something was very wrong with the other man, but the nagging guilt that he was the reason behind the shaking hands and the pale, sweat-slicked skin made it something he had tried to look the other way on.

“What does Lecter say?”

Will jerked, surprised to hear Hannibal’s name invoked. Mumbling he looked down to the porch’s wooden slats. “He mentioned something about the hormone blockers.”

“So you are taking something?”

Will could only nod, his throat working as he swallowed sickly. “He thinks there might be something- maybe a toxicity build up-”

“And what do you think?” Jack asked, his voice steady, penetrating. 

“Maybe a brain tumor?” Will’s voice broke as he whispered what until now he had kept to himself, his fear finally revealed. “A blood clot? Something else, something not-” he couldn’t continue, but Jack seemed to hear the unsaid _omega_ in Will’s silence.

“Alright.” Jack said, a decision reached. “Okay, then. You are going to get this looked into. You are going to go, take every single test and exam and scan that your insurance offers, and you are going to figure out what is going on.”

“But the case-”

“The case doesn’t concern you. As of now you are benched.” Will shook his head, indignant but Jack held up his hand forestalling further argument. “You are off the case until you come to me with a diagnosis that isn’t built on conjecture. Do you understand me?”

Jack clasped Will’s shoulder, his grip as firm as his voice. “Get your head on straight. That’s why I’m shelling out the big bucks on the best psychiatrist money can buy. I want something to show for it.”

Will nodded as Jack swept back into the house, leaving him on the porch, a shivering, blinking wretch. 

While he meant to bring it up with Bedelia during their next session, Will couldn’t help telling Hannibal about what happened that night. Laying in Hannibal’s arms, surrounded by the protective shell of darkness, he found the courage to finally tell him all of it. Every lapse, every fear, every hallucination he had kept as repressed as his leaking subconscious would allow. Will should have felt disgusted at himself, he should have been humiliated at voicing the full extent of his damage, but Hannibal took it all in with customary stoicism. The hand stroking Will’s spine never faltered as it ran up and down, caressing one vertebrae at a time. 

“I have a colleague,” Hannibal offered. “From my time at Johns Hopkins, a neurologist. He is an expert in his field and I trust him to be absolutely discrete. If you are truly concerned about a brain tumor, then we can go to him.”

“Thank you,” Will whispered.

“But if I call him, if you make an appointment with him, then I need you to promise something in return.”

“What?”

Hannibal sighed, pulled Will closer so that he was sprawled across the alpha’s smooth chest. He kissed Will’s temple, and Will felt himself tensing for whatever it was Hannibal wanted in return. “I need you to run some blood tests. To rule out the suppressants once and for all.”

“That’s all?” he asked. “That’s not so bad.”

“Some of the tests we would run- you would need to stop taking the suppressants for some days prior.”

Will tried to jerk away, but Hannibal held on fast, anticipating his agitation. 

“This is for your own good, Will.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Go around smelling like an _omega_ everywhere I went? Everyone would know!”

“You said it yourself, Jack is not allowing your return without a diagnosis.”

“My students-” Will spluttered.

“Then you will call in sick. I’m certain Alana will cover your classes if you tell her there are tests you need to run. She is concerned for your well-being as it is, I’m sure she would be more than happy to help.” 

“I can’t,” Will insisted.

“Will-”

“No, you don’t understand. I _can’t._ I haven’t been without them for years, I don’t know what- what if-”

“What are you so frightened of?”

“What if it is the blockers? What if we run the tests and it was the hormone blockers all along, then what do I do? Just stop taking them, just like that? Suddenly everyone will know- _everyone_. The people at the grocery store, everyone in line at the bank. I’ll have a giant target on my back.”

“It is as bad as all that-”

“ _No?_ Do you know what happens to unmated omegas like me? We get assaulted- beaten up or raped or worse.”

“You are becoming hysterical and unnecessarily so,” the criticism was delivered in much the same prosaic manner Hannibal said anything, but Will felt it like cold water in his face. “That may be true for some, but when have you ever allowed yourself to be a victim? You are stronger than that. If anyone attempted to harm you, I do not believe it to be a situation that they would walk away from under their own steam.”

“But without the hormone blocker-”

“You would still be you. You are not at the mercy of your biology, Will, you are more than so many hormones and primal animal instinct. Even without the suppressants, you would still be the brave, beautiful man that I have come to know.”

“You forgot broken,” Will said, but the words didn’t have the heat of self-loathing they usually did. He hid his face, and the happiness that threatened to spill across it, in the solid warmth of Hannibal’s chest.


	9. Chapter 9

Without the pills, Will found his mind more addled than before. Hannibal insisted that it was only natural, his body was detoxifying like an addict’s, but Will was too busy holding his head in agony to listen to his words. He laughed ruefully when he thought back on how he had worried that others would treat him differently. He was in too much to pain to make the trip downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast, much less grocery shopping. Light hurt his eyes, sounds hurt his ears, and migraine after migraine ravaged his brain. 

“Did you feed my dogs?” Will asked, voice strained when Hannibal came home, undressing in the bedroom Will had all but moved in to. 

“I did,” Hannibal said as he sat on the bed to remove his shoes. When they were off he leaned over to brush a kiss across Will’s moist forehead. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

“Sure,” Will said, and Hannibal frowned.

“Are you feeling any worse?”

“Define worse.”

“Will,” Hannibal said, his name a solemn warning.

“I’m fine,” Will gritted, even as Garret Jacobs Hobbs leered at him from the corner or the room, taunting him.

_Fine, huh?_ Hobbs said, staring at Will with those milky death eyes, the blood from his gunshot wounds still running freely. 

“This won’t go on for much longer, I promise you. Tomorrow Dr. Sutcliffe will run some more tests and perhaps then we will have an answer.”

“Another brain scan?” Will asked, hopeful for a brain tumor, as sick as that was. It was better than the alternative: more nothing. 

“Among other things,” Hannibal agreed. 

“I thought the last batch of tests were clean?”

“They were inconclusive. We will work until we reach a conclusion.”

Will could only lay back and nod. After all, the room was slowly filling with water and he knew by now it was useless to struggle against the rising tide.

***  
Will wasn’t sure if he had lost time again, or if he was just hallucinating, but when he finally crawled out of the MRI machine what felt like hours later, there was an eerie stillness to the air, like a pressure drop right before a summer thunderstorm. 

“Dr. Sutcliffe?” Will called out to the lonely room, but only his echo answered him. He found his way back to the exam room and changed from the gaping hospital gown to the his regular, far less revealing clothes. With his cell phone in hand, Will started out the way he had come, following the nondescript hallways toward a distant red exit sign. He was already dialing Hannibal’s cell phone when he noticed the blood on the door knob.

“There you are,” came Hannibal’s voice, at a distance and getting farther away as Will lowered the phone away from his ear.

Will drew his gun, as quietly as he could and slowly pushed the door open with a hand still clasping the cell. He stepped sideways into the room, ready for danger, but what he saw was worse than he could have imagined.

“Oh, God,” he sobbed as he saw the carnage of what used to be Dr. Sutcliffe’s face. His molars gleamed bright, the doctor’s mouth as ravaged as when Will- _no, not_ Will _, someone else, anyone else_ \- had carved open that girl‘ face. Gutted her- _no it was a_ fish _he had gutted_ \- and the blood was so cold in between his fingers. 

Distantly he could hear his name being called, but all he saw was Garrett Jacob Hobbs laughing at him, calling his name, mocking him. 

_Do you see?_ Hobbs laughed. _Will?_

“Will. Will!”

With a jolt, Will realized he was still holding his phone. “Hannibal-”

“Oh thank God. What is going on? Are you all right?”

Will couldn’t help it he started to laugh. “All right? I think I might have done something...” His voice trailed off as he looked at the blood pooling down the neurologist’s legs. Thick rivers, like tracks of tears, and Will could feel them start to fall from his eyes the longer he stared at them. Tears as warm as blood.

“-you hear me?”

“I need you,” Will said to Hannibal, though he was looking into Hobbs’ eyes- _white, film-covered eyes_ as he said it. “I need you to tell me what’s real.”

“Where are you? I’m coming.”

It felt like no time had passed at all, most likely he had just lost it again, and suddenly Hannibal was there, kneeling by where Will had sprawled in the furthest corner of the room, the better to keep his eye on Hobbs- _pacing_ -and Dr. Sutcliffe- _so still_. 

“Please, talk to me, Will.”

“What do you see, Doctor?” Will asked, laughing. “Do you see them, too?”

Hannibal drew back, his brow furrowed deeply. “Who do you see, Will? Garret Jacob Hobbs?”

“Well, yes, but he’s always there. I’m talking about Dr. Sutcliffe. What do you see in his face?”

Hannibal turned around, and Will braced himself for the horror, the disgust as he saw, once and for all, what Will was capable of. 

“I don’t see anything, Will. We are alone.”

“No.” Will shook his head, his words turning to the moans of a wounded animal. “No. No. No.”

“Do you see Dr. Sutcliffe, Will?”

“He’s right there,” Will shouted, pointing at the blood and the mangled flesh. “He’s dead, and he’s right there.”

“I spoke to him before you called me, Will. He said he had finished with your tests hours ago, that you had left his office when he had.”

“No.”

“He’s alive, Will. Please, look at me, believe me.” 

Will’s eyes darted, between Hannibal- _so steady, so reliable_ \- and Dr Sutcliffe- _dead dead dead_.

And that was the last thing Will remembered.

Hannibal watched, passive, as Will’s eyes rolled back in his head, as he jerked where he stood before resting as lifeless as a marionette with it’s string cut off. While he hadn’t planned on inducing a seizure, it certainly was well-timed. He has intended on doubling back to dispose of his unfortunate colleague, but this would be far more efficient, and Hannibal prized efficiency above all else. 

After he’d received confirmation on the diagnosis of encephalitis he had smelled on Will all those weeks ago, he knew Dr. Sutcliffe’s usefulness had expired like so much rancid meat. There was one last favor he could do Hannibal, and that had worked even more spectacularly than he had envisioned.

He spared a moment to admire his work, but only a moment. He had much to do before Will came to.

Hannibal rolled up his sleeves and got to work.


	10. Chapter 10

It didn’t feel like waking up, precisely. Instead, he felt like he was already awake, he just hadn’t quite made the decision to be conscious yet. Like a drunk, he felt his head waver on his neck, like it was just shy of being too heavy to hold up properly. Something annoying- a gnat with fingers- buzzed about, landing on his shoulders and face.

Light pierced his eyes and he realized it wasn’t a gnat but Hannibal pulling open his eyelids one at a time. 

_Huh,_ he thought. That’s why it was so dark.

“What is your name?”

Had something happened, that Hannibal had forgotten his name? He wanted to ask but all he could manage was an obediently mumbled, “Will Graham.”

“Good. Now I need you to lift your arms for me. Both of them. That’s right.”

Hannibal’s voice had a strange tenderness to it. _I think he likes me._

“Excellent. I was going to ask you to smile next.”

“What happened?” He couldn’t decide if his tongue was too big for his mouth, or his mouth too small for his teeth. Either way, his words slurred strangely.

“You had a mild seizure. What do you remember last?”

Will shook his head, but that did little to lift the murky fog tangling through his thoughts. “I don’t-” he tried, heart starting to pound dully when he couldn’t even get his mind in order to finish the sentence.

“You are fine, Will. Calm yourself. You are experiencing a postictal state, it is perfectly normal, I assure you.” Will felt his cheek cupped, which was nice since then he didn’t have to hold up his heavy head all by himself. A thumb caressed his cheekbones and Will lost himself to the sensations, the rare feeling of being cared for, of feeling utterly safe. 

“Dr. Sutcliffe,” Will remembered with a jolt. He tried to push away from the wall at his back, to stand up, but gravity was a more relentless opposition than he remembered it being. A support tucked under his elbow and lifted Will upright enough to see the gruesome scene-

-of nothing. 

Will blinked, batted at his eyes with a clumsy hand, but still, there was nothing to see except for an empty office and a spotless desk chair. No gore, no blood, just fountain pens and clean leather. 

“But I thought-”

“I know.” Will could feel the words, a soothing rumble of Hannibal’s chest. “You called me in a panic. You were agitated, nonsensical, but you did manage to tell me what you thought you saw.”

“It was so real,” Will said, staring at the spot like he could make Dr. Sutcliffe appear if he just looked hard enough. “I could _smell_ his death. I could smell it like I never smelled any of the other hallucinations.”

“An escalation, most likely onset now that you are no longer taking the suppressants. It isn’t common, but it isn’t unheard of either. Let us be grateful that it was only that, and that you seem to be none the worse for it. Now, we ought to go, I can drop you off at your house, and we can worry about picking up your car in the mor-”

Will grasped the lapels of Hannibal’s jacket, fisting the fine material. “Please. Don’t, I don’t want to be alone. Can I come home with you? I jus- I don’t trust myself right now.”

Hannibal gently untangled his suit from Will’s desperate hands. He twined their fingers together and Will felt his panic recede, slowly ebb away.

“Then trust me, instead.”

The entire journey home, Hannibal handled Will with kid gloves, handling him as gently as he might handled a thousand year old scroll: as if all it would take was one rough touch and Will would crumble like so much detritus. He had appreciated the tender approach in the car when he was still waking from his fugue, but the further they moved through the house, the more Will resented it.

Ushering him into the dark kitchen with a hand at his lower back, Hannibal took care to keep the lights at a comfortable dimness. “Rest,” he said as he turned to examine the contents of his well-stocked refrigerator. “I will prepare something for you to eat. Is there anything you-”

He was stopped short at the hands at his shoulders, turning him around with frantic intentionality. Will was so tired of being broken, of Hannibal feeling like anything more than a soft touch would shatter him irreparably. He wanted something hard to make him feel what was real, something solid to tether him to reality. 

“Just,” he bit into Hannibal’s mouth. “I need.”

Will couldn’t get further than that. Instead he took Hannibal’s hand and wrapped the long, elegant fingers around his throat. He could feel the pressure build as Hannibal squeezed.

“Yes,” Hannibal hissed before striking at Will’s mouth, tongue as desperate as Will’s keening gasps. 

Will tore at his unbearably constrictive shirt, worked his clothes off until he was down to his boxers, his mouth never left Hannibal’s all the while. His lips felt raw, bruised at the unrelenting pace of Hannibal’s kisses, but to pull away, even to breathe, felt too much like giving up. Will was man-handled, and never before had that word felt so apt. He was shoved against the countertop, the sharp pain as the corner bit into his hip brought tears stinging behind his eyelids. It only served to make him hungrier for contact. He tried to blindly remove Hannibal’s clothes, but they were far more intricate than Will’s and refused to cooperate. With an annoyed grunt he wrenched his mouth away from Hannibal’s and bent his head to attend to the task at hand. _So many buttons._

Hannibal took the opportunity to nuzzle at Will’s throat, biting into the thick muscle of his trapezious. As Will shifted focus, unbuckling Hannibal’s belt with hands still unsteady from his earlier malady, Hannibal couldn’t help but follow the line of his neck, roughly nipping at Will’s skin. He found himself teething at the soft line where Will’s hairline met his throat, his nose buried in wild, sweat dampened curls. 

“Find something you like back there,” Will asked, amused, but Hannibal only inhaled deeper, rolling Will’s scent- oaky and dark, like the best wine- across his palate. He turned Will around, following that heady smell down Will’s spine and across to his underarm, where it was deeper, richer. 

Will knew he should object, but Hannibal was grinding his hard cock into Will’s ass and his eyes fluttered closed, anticipating, wanting...

“Oh, god. It’s the pheromones.”

Hannibal came to a stillness so precise there was the faintest taste of danger to it. Will shivered.

“I’m not on the blockers, that’s what you’re smelling.” He tried to sound as worried as he knew he ought to be, but he could feel Hannibal’s hips as they jerked, rubbing against Will in a way that made him torturously hard. 

“We should stop,” tried Hannibal, his breath hot as it fluttered across Will’s hyper-sensitive skin. 

“Yeah,” Will said, unconcerned as he reached backward to grab Hannibal’s ass, pulling the other man in even closer. Hannibal made a delighted sound as Will shoved his boxers down and then there was nothing in their way, making it so easy for Hannibal’s cum-slicked cock to dip between Will’s cheeks. 

“Are you sure?” Hannibal asked, his voice more in control than it had any right to be.

“God, yes.”

“I don’t have anything-” Hannibal started.

“Then get something.”

Will stayed where he was, half bent over the kitchen counter as Hannibal went in search of lubricant. He didn’t dare so much as shift his weight or change the angle of his head in case he lost his nerve. This was something they had been dancing toward for weeks now, he was damned if he was going to freak out now. 

He _felt_ Hannibal before he heard him, the sheer weight of the other man’s presence was palpable and he could feel his skin break out in goosebumps in anticipation.

“You look-” Hannibal started but for the first time since Will had known him, he seemed to be lost for words. And suddenly that was enough to steel his resolve.

“Come on.”

Will’s breath caught as Hannibal worked the first finger into him. It felt so foreign but, as he bore down on it at Hannibal’s urging, it began to lose its strangeness. And when Hannibal crooked his finger, sending a shock of pleasure shooting through his body, Will began to lose the ability to care. 

“That’s it,” Hannibal murmured into Will’s ear, coaxing as he slid a second finger to join the first, giving Will little time to adjust before adding a third. Will groaned, tipping his head back until he found Hannibal’s strong, sturdy shoulder. His fingers twisted and Will jolted.

“More,” Will insisted, reaching back to cup Hannibal’s rigid cock, smears of cum decorating his wrist as he stroked it.

“Let me just-”

“Now,” he insisted. 

It was with a steady burn that Hannibal’s cock pushed into Will, the pain unlike anything he had felt before. In all his imaginings, he hadn’t ever accounted for how _big_ Hannibal was, and now that that full length was filling him, taking him, Will was gasping as panic swelled in his throat, choking him so that all he could do was sputter.

Will started as he felt the contact of Hannibal’s pelvis against his ass, shivering with sweat and pain. Hannibal rubbed his forehead back and forth against the back of Will’s head as he waited for him to adjust. Tiny, almost unconsciously, Hannibal thrusted and Will groaned.

“Oh God,” he gasped as Hannibal’s cock got unfathomably bigger. “Christ,” he keened and Hannibal’s hands stroked the sides of his body, murmuring reassurance.

“What-”

“The knot,” Hannibal ground out between clenched teeth, fighting the instinct that would have him take Will, fast and hard and damn the consequences, but the admittedly distant part of his rational mind knew there would be time for that later. 

Will’s head shook back and forth, restless, as the pain got unbearable, the head of Hannibal’s cock growing even thicker. And then, just as Will thought he wouldn’t be able to take it anymore, was going to try to rip himself away from that punishing length, suddenly it was like he could breathe again.

“Oh,” he said, and it was like surrendering to the water that rose in his hallucinations. He was remade and all there was left to do was fall into the deliciously sweet feeling of _rightness_. 

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed, thrusting in earnest now as he felt Will’s body lose its tension. Will’s hands scrambled across the kitchen counter, seeking purchase, and Hannibal reached to pin them down, grinding Will’s wrists into the stainless steel countertop. He crowded against Will until the press of his body was like a lifeline that Will could surrender in to. Will’s cries were as sweet as a coloratura’s, and everything a devotee like Hannibal could hope for. 

“Not going to-” Will whispered.

“Good.”

Will came, his head thrown back and his mouth working soundlessly. Hannibal could feel muscles deep inside of Will gripping him, coaxing along his own orgasm and he leaned in to it, hips pounding in need even after his cock finished spilling his pleasure.

It wasn’t until later, when Hannibal finally released his trapped wrists and the circulation was like pins and needles as it flowed once more, that Will even realized that he was still being held down. He could still feel his ass, contracting around the length inside of him, but it barely even shifted.

“Are you going to...” Will started, but he could feel Hannibal start to move again, just as hard as if he hadn’t come at all.

“I don’t think I can,” Hannibal said, fucking into Will once more.


	11. Chapter 11

Will hesitated on the street corner, taking in the circus of cameras and police lights that lined the sidewalk, his stomach clenching sickly at the thought of getting through all those people. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and tried to just breathe through the queasiness. Over the last few weeks, the drug regimen Will was on- the bevy of hormone pills and the twice-daily injections to mitigate the destruction the previous pills had wrought- was finally working. Though there was still some lingering after affects, Hannibal seemed pleased at Will’s progress. 

“You must be patient,” Hannibal would say as he slid the needle into Will’s forearm, another bruise spreading, becoming lost amongst the countless others that dotted his skin. “Recovery is a gradual thing for all of modern medicine’s seemingly miraculous advancements.” 

Will was just relieved that Hannibal had apparently decided to take his duties as Will’s alpha very seriously, consulting with Dr. Sutcliffe so that Will wouldn’t have to. The image of the neurologist’s face hacked open was still too real, too raw, for Will to feel comfortable sitting across from the man during a consult. So, even though he should be annoyed, he didn’t like to be treated as weak, in this case Hannibal’s need to be controlling worked to Will’s advantage so he kept his mouth shut. 

Anyway, it was about the only time Hannibal asserted any kind of dominance. In the bedroom he was just as deferential as he had always been, and Will had learned that he had been right. There was nothing to be lost by giving himself over to the other man. If he were being completely honest with himself, mating with Hannibal hadn’t been the horrible, life-shattering thing he had thought it would be. He hadn’t changed; there hadn’t been a sudden desire to stay at home and do needlepoint or whatever it was that omegas were supposed to want to do. He still wanted to work. He still wanted to help Jack save lives. He just happened to have something waiting for him at the end of the day that was sort of wonderful. 

Will wasn’t used to wonderful, but it was a nice change of pace. 

Now that the fire engulfing his brain had started to extinguish, Will’s chief complaint was the nausea the drugs produced. However, when the alternative was horrifically real hallucinations and unaccounted for time lapses, throwing up didn’t seem so bad. Still, he eyed the chaos of journalists with trepidation, his stomach clenching tightly. Will dry swallowed a pill- actual aspirin, the medicine matching the bottle for the first time in years- as he steeled his shoulders.

It was as bad as he had expected, but he kept his pace quick and his head down as he pushed through to the yellow tape. A smell caught his nose, the traces of someone’s tuna salad and the chemicals of synthetic floral perfume. He swallowed against the assault as he jostled through the crowd. Jack spotted him from the suburban house’s doorway and turned to say something to Beverly.

“Will! Will Graham,” came the all too-familiar voice of Freddie Lounds and Will briefly wondered if it would make it her blog of he vomited on her Louboutins. 

“I guess they have their pet psychopath back to work, huh?” she said, as charming as ever. 

“It would seem so,” Will said, jaw clenched.

“Hey, you don’t look so good,” Freddie peered into Will’s face, too close all of a sudden, and Will wished Jack would hurry up already. “You look kind of pasty.”

“Didn’t realized you cared.”

“Of course I care! You’re always good for raising my site’s hit count. Tell me again the one about how you think about killing people for a living?”

_Hurry up, Jack_

“I’ve been advised against it.”

“Ah, yes. And here come your handlers now,” she said as Jack finally made it to the tape cordoning the crime scene, lifting the yellow plastic up for Will to pass through. Suddenly, Freddie’s hand grabbed at Will’s bicep. 

“You smell funny,” she said, leaning in close even as Beverly stepped forward, ready to pull Will out of Freddie’s talon-grip. 

“Will,” Jack called, voice like steel, and Will tried to follow but Freddie’s hand was surprisingly strong. The sounds of the journalists yelling questions and lifting their microphone for a comment was pressed in on him, the assault on his hearing doing little to settle his nausea.

“Are you,” she stopped, sniffing again. Her face turned gleeful and Will felt his stomach sink. He braced himself for what he knew was coming and yet still somehow it was worse than he could have imagined. “Are you pregnant?”

Beverly’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropped and Jack’s expression became thunderous. Will shook his head, frantic to un-hear Freddie’s words but it made horrible sense. _Pregnant,_ Will could hear it ringing over and over again in his ears, the word taunting him.

“Go home, Will,” he commanded, as furious as Will had ever seen him.

“So, wait, does this mean you’re an om-”

“Will.” Jack broke in, eyes filled with brimstone. “Go. Home.”

Will could feel his face drain of blood, and he stumbled backwards when Beverly tried to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Now.”

***

“Were you going to tell me?” Will demanded, eyes red and hands shaking like they hadn’t in several week. Hannibal settled the iPad in his hands onto the coffee table, mindful of the espresso already there. He was surprised, but a relapse wasn’t out of the question.

“You will have to be more specific.”

Will’s steps were heavy as he staggered in to the room. The sweet stink of sickness hovered in the air around him. 

“Like you don’t know,” his voice was scathing. “Is that why you fucked me when I was off the blockers? Is this what you wanted?”

Hannibal stood, facing the accusations with a mild look and the slightest tilt of his head. 

“What are you-” he said, stepping nearer and then he could smell it. Faint, like the first dim traces of sunlight in the dawn sky, the scent of omega hormones bleeding through the familiar beta smell. 

Will could see Hannibal’s realization, genuine in it’s surprise, and he slumped as he realized: “You didn’t know.”

Hannibal whispered Will’s name, held out his hand, and Will let himself be drawn into an all-consuming embrace. He shut his eyes, tight enough to see spots. Hannibal’s arms were strong and Will could imagine getting lost in them in only he squeezed hard enough. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to face what was coming next.

“I’m not keeping it, you know,” Will said into Hannibal’s shoulder.

He went preternaturally still and Will could feel Hannibal’s pulse as his heart pounded against Will’s chest. 

“I _can’t_ ,” Will confided. “I can’t possibly raise a child. I can’t be responsible for another life when I only just got my own under control.”

Will was ready for Hannibal to let go, to be rejected, but the other man only held on tighter, like he could make Will see reason if only he held on a little harder. 

“It’s your decision of course,” Hannibal said but his tone was just a little too distant, too practical. 

“Abigail’s mom was an omega,” Will said, seemingly apropos of nothing. 

“I was not aware,” Hannibal said evenly. “The situation did not allow me to take that much notice of her.”

Will snorted, “Yeah no kidding. But we talk about her mother, when I go to visit her. Her father not so much, well,” he gave a bitter, wet laugh. “for obvious reasons. You know what Abigail told me? She said that when Garrett Jacob Hobbs slit her throat, her mother didn’t even try to fight. She just sat there and let him do it. I don’t want to become that. I don’t want to be someone- some _thing_ so docile that I could just sit still and let my alpha control me- kill me- and not say a word.” 

“Oh Will,” Hannibal said, drawing back enough that he could hold Will’s face between his palms, admire the tears that crowded his eyelashes. _You already are_. 

He leaned in, kissing Will’s eyelids until he could feel their salty offerings on his tongue. Will strained against his hands to kiss him, tried to press in, but Hannibal held fast, made him work for the contact. When he released him, Will’s mouth was desperate for having been denied for even such a short period of time.

Hannibal would have pressed for more but the sound of the doorbell cut through the air. 

“Stay,” Hannibal said. “I will deal with it.”

It was fortunate that the person on the other side of the door was Jack Crawford since he was the only man Hannibal was unable to kill. Of course, Jack wouldn’t be an agent forever. 

“I know he’s here,” Jack said, glowering darkly at Hannibal. He pointed an accusing finger as Hannibal stepped outside and closed the door behind himself. “You were suppose to watch him, not mate with him.”

“I had mentioned, at our first consultation, the solution to Will’s instability might be as simple as that.”

“And now he’s _pregnant_. How the hell is _that_ supposed to keep his secret from the bureau.”

“It was an unexpected-” 

Jack cut Hannibal off with a growl. “He can’t keep it. You have to convince him not to-”

“That,” Hannibal interrupted, matching Jack’s rudeness with an upturned nose. “Is a private matter and none of your concern.”

“Well why don’t I make it my concern? Starting with informing the American Board of Psychiatry that you got your _omega_ patient pregnant.”

“Threats, Jack?” Hannibal let his amusement bleed into his eyes, turn up his mouth. 

“Promises. I’ll see your license revoked.”

“Which would only happen if he were still my patient, which Will has not been for several months. I transferred him to a colleague of mine, long before we started a personal relationship, which Dr. Du Maurier will verify should you inquire further into the matter. You really should pay closer attention to the paperwork that comes across your desk.”

“You-” Jack stepped in closer, menacing, but Hannibal only became more flippant.

“While we are on the subject of misconduct, I would think you would be more concerned about your own. You were the one, after all, that brought me in to assess Special Agent Graham’s capacity to work with you. You were the one that knowingly worked with and depended on an omega in a high risk occupation _and_ hid it from your superiors. That would be called conspiracy, Jack. If you try to take me down I will only bring you with me.”

Jack’s face, lined with disbelief, was the second most beautiful thing Hannibal had seen that day. Hannibal started to turn back into his house when Jack spoke. 

“Is this what you wanted all along,” he said, finally, the second time Hannibal had been asked that same question in a matter of minutes. “Will bound to you, barefoot and pregnant?”

“Yes,” Hannibal answered, easily, closing the door in Jack’s face. 

Jack stared at the door, fuming, but he knew the only person he had to blame was himself. If it hadn't been for his damned meddling, Will Graham would never have met Dr. Hannibal Lecter. 

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, folks! Thanks so much, a million times, for all your support, encouragement, and enthusiasm. I'm just bowled over by how generous all of you have been!
> 
> For those of you that are interested in the matter of warnings that had been touched upon, I have a proposal on this thread: http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/1648245?show_comments=true#comment_3634468
> 
> Thanks again, everyone. You've been wonderful


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